


exit

by Halflife



Series: enter & exit [2]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Talentswap (Dangan Ronpa), M/M, Misgendering, Ouma not Oma, Pregnancy Scares, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trans Male Character, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halflife/pseuds/Halflife
Summary: Post-Kumasutra, Kokichi's game plan is to avoid the hell out of the Ultimate Supreme Leader.Unfortunately, someone seems to want to make his fantasy a reality.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: enter & exit [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632910
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	exit

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛsᴡᴀᴘ ᴀᴜ. ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ғʟᴇsʜᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴡᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛs ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs sᴇǫᴜᴇʟ.
> 
> 2\. ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴇᴍsᴇʟᴠᴇs, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ɪɴᴄʜᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ. ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ 'ɪғ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɢᴜʏs ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴀᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴅ ɢᴜʏs ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅ' ᴀᴜ. 
> 
> 3\. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪs ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴜɴᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴏɴᴄᴏɴsᴇɴsᴜᴀʟ sᴇx. ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏɴᴄᴏɴ, ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅɴᴏᴛᴇs ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟs.

[ _Think of it as a kind of dream that lets you escape this cruel, dark reality._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETEg-SB01QY)

[ _That’s why it’s so important to play the role that person wants you to._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETEg-SB01QY)

— 

Blearily, Kokichi opens his eyes to a non-languid world.

“…what a dream,” he murmurs. 

Kokichi sits up, and promptly fails. Failure due to his blankets being essentially melded to his skin, which all by itself is in a state of ample gross. Like post-sunbathing, his flesh is simultaneously very sticky and very sweaty.

For a split second nothing burns, nothing hurts. Suddenly then, his body flashes; Kokichi breaks out into shivers and heat is radiating off of his thighs. It feels like every muscle is overstimulated and every sore is reopened; wounds he wasn’t aware of ache and newly present strains complain. 

What is going _on_? 

What even happened last night?

_What time is it…? The morning announcement hasn’t gone off already, has it?_

He rubs his eyes with the back of a hand, smearing off the layered sleep. Last night… well he just woke up from that weird-ass, bomb-ass dream for no reason. Aside from the fact that there is a good reason - him visiting Hotel Kumasutra.

He ghosts over his pockets… The Love Key is, in fact, gone. The dip between fabric confirms that. 

_So I did I get busy or what? This still doesn’t answer any of my questions._ _And Saihara definitely wouldn’t have had sex with me. Not so roughly, either,_ Kokichi thinks with a sniff. 

A bait-and-switch. Monokuma’s allure led him in, he had a weird dream about the object of his affections, and now he feels like shit in the morning after.

“Just another one of that bastard bear’s manipulations, eh?” Was Monokuma aware of how Kokichi felt? Is it all of the ‘beloved’s he’s directed at Saihara? No, Kokichi flirts with everyone - it had to have been luck. 

It’s too bad, after all… it was just a randomized fantasy. _Why can’t I remember what happened, though? Is that a part of the Love Key ordeal?_

Grimacing, Kokichi mentally adjusts his big boy pants and throws the clingy covers aside. An understatement; removing the blankets is akin to peeling off iron. He stands and discovers that his legs’ integrity reduced to that of a fawn’s. 

This is… kind of melodramatic. Nevertheless, Kokichi awkwardly jaunts his way towards the bathroom. The world is flickering between hot-cold, with his top layer sweats turning to ice and his innermost skin boiling. 

_Okay, if I’m feeling like this, was it really a dream or a nightmare?_

Because it had to be some fantasyland. Him and - Saihara? No way. Crush notwithstanding, Saihara could never be that intimate with Kokichi. Yet the absence of Love Key taunts him, questioning the strange gap in his memory and the unpleasant aftermath of such a hazy dream; _are you sure, Kokichi? You sure you and your overabundance in creativity’s at fault for this? It doesn’t feeeeeel like a wet dream… and you would know, cause you’ve had plenty._

 _No way,_ he reaffirms. “It was just a dream,” he says aloud, towards himself. Thus, it’s the truth. Lying to oneself is the worst thing a person could do. 

Now that his fit is very much over, thank you - it’s time to readjust his appearance.

Before undressing, Kokichi immediately turns the shower on and secondly begins to stretch his strains away. Don’t get the wrong impression, though. Early showers aren’t his favorite, showering in general is a feast of anxiety and mind-numbing dysphoria, but he’s not going out smelling and looking like dogshit.

Once the mirror is coated in a veil of steam, Kokichi’s comfortable enough to strip. Since he’s removing his very iconic and very important uniform, he treats it with an inkling of care. Instead of throwing it in a heap, he folds each article of clothing over the hamper. As for his ‘delicacies,’ those undergarments are thrown aside with violent prejudice. 

Stepping into the threshold of the shower is heaven. Despite himself, Kokichi whimpers as soon as the water hits his back. That is beyond unusual for him, but god it feels so _good_. Mindlessly he presses his ventrals against the wall, letting the water cascade down his spine. His hands blindly fumble for the handle, notching up the temperature several degrees. 

If he were home, Kokichi would slide to the ground. Just sit, and soak in all of the warmth his body was apparently desperate for. But since he isn’t in the safety of his apartment-turned-office, Kokichi settles on closing his eyes and teasing unconsciousness. 

Hot showers are never this pleasant.

( It should concern him, all of this is worrying, because Kokichi is typically fine with cold water. In childhood, he appreciated the sanctity of hot water; taught that it was expensive and limited and he could only use so much for dishwashing. Showers were out of the question. Furthermore, he’s sensitive; pale and baby-fat padded skin leaves him vulnerable to scalds. )

Eventually, the boiling sensation becomes uncomfortable and Kokichi flips his body over. He must cook evenly, after all, or he’ll walk outside creamy on one end and burnt on the other. 

...but since he's more conscious, he might as well continue the tedious ordeal. 

Personally, for Kokichi, this is the most grueling aspect of grooming. Kokichi unhooks his loofah and thoroughly smears in the soap; erratically, he slathers a wide sheen over his chest. Despite the water repeatedly dousing the soap, he’s layered it on thickly enough where it doesn’t immediately wash away. The rest of his body receives similar treatment. 

Not because he’s ultra hygienic. Just that he doesn’t want to see.

On the daily, Kokichi considers his dysphoria to be of a mild temperament. No, he’s not - in love with his body, exactly, and he regards his own frame with distaste. Outward aesthetics aside, he regards himself as stereotypical housewife… passing? Housewife-passing. _Feminine coded_ or whatever. Round curves patterned with cellulite and all, he fits squarely in the definition of an ‘average young adult woman,’ and it’s exhausting. Perhaps if his undesirables were more desirable, if he had a more robust chest or more blatant hips, this meatsuit could be bearable. Society at large would treat him as a lady but moreso to his face, without shame, and without shame he could correct them.

Yet he was born androgynous. First impressions are painful and a no-mans-land. No one’s a hundred-percent sure about his gender initially; very few ask him outright, others look for hints in his pitch and glance over his stature perhaps a hundred times. 

Worse yet, it’s taunting. If he could pass a bit better, or if he had something more masculine in his features. Kokichi is on the cusp of being perceived as a man and he can never fully step over the border. Cosmetics and gendered clothing certainly helps, but it’s not a cure all. It’s infuriating that he has to argue with his wardrobe daily; ruthlessly degrading or ignoring the clothes that aren’t that blatantly male that day. Makeup is good but from a distance. When someone notices that he’s wearing concealer, it has the exact opposite effect. Guys aren’t supposed to wear makeup, guys are not supposed to be short, guys shouldn’t have high voices. 

Some of them do and they’re not supposed to. Some of the unfortunates still manage to get lucky. After all, Kokichi’s captivated by Ryoma’s huskiness and how much masculinity just oozes out of him. If Kokichi were an inch or two shorter, he’d be laughed at. 

Isn't that just despicable? He doesn't deserve it. Kokichi deserves it. Ryoma never even acts bothered by his physique. 

He wouldn't miss it.

He wouldn't care about it. Ryoma is so lucky. Ryoma accepts whatever biology gives him. Short, stout; Ryoma doesn't mind, he doesn't care, he doesn't deserve it. If anyone here should be comfortable within their own carnal body, it should be Kokichi.

And Kokichi hates himself for it.

 _God. What am I doing? I shouldn't be thinking about my classmates like that_ , he thinks. He shakes his head clear, as though it will rid him of such deep-rooted resentments. It won't, it never will, but he can try. _Get it together. Jealousy is fine, but being envious of anyone in particular... that's a death sentence._

_I'm sorry, Hoshi,_ he murmurs to himself. Not very loud. Undecipherable from the roar of the shower water. 

Kokichi wrings out his sponge, mindlessly. 

— 

_Ding dong,_   
_bing bong._

There it is - rise and shine, ursine. Their overworld mascots are conducting their usual play. He swears that his eyes are going to start glazing over.

Apparently, the running subplot of this week's theme is of deniability. One of the annoying bearfucks wronged the sister bearfuck, but he won't acknowledge it. They're arguing between themselves, but as is... 'comical' it gets incredibly out of hand and blown out of proportion. 

Despite himself, Kokichi addresses the monitor. “You know none of us are watching this, right? No one cares about your little theatrical plays.”

None of them react. Pre-recorded footage, perhaps. Monokuma's likely stalking around the dormitories now; what AI would bother replying to their human test subjects in real-time? They have better things to do.

Like cooking up another motive, for example. _He got really upset that the videos didn't pan out in the end... he blames the swap, but I don't agree with that. It made everyone reach out to anyone they suspected. Our group's being split further, into cliques and subcategories. I did the right thing, with Iruma 'n Momota, but what if I hadn't?_

_She probably would've killed him. And wouldn't have gotten away with it, and our numbers would be down to a minuscule twelve. We'd be a dozen rats, skittering in their increasingly empty cage._

Twelve... right. Kokichi's gaze flickers to his inactive device.

Without much thought, he boots it up. And within the students panel, the undeniable proof of bloodshed and lying. 

Two of their sixteen are dead. Amami-chan, the Ultimate Pianist, killed by the odd-one-out Akamatsu-chan. 

The Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles is shrouded in mystery. Kokichi found himself stunned by the reveal that the Monopads would willingly lie for them; talents in particular, like how it shamelessly spattered the words ‘child caretaker’ for bloodthirsty Momota and addressed Akamatsu as a nobody. Only one student was not favored by the technology, but Kokichi supposes that the ‘Ultimate Mage’ lie from Harukawa was incredibly flimsy to begin with. Furthermore, Kokichi’s curiosity was piqued at ‘gender’ and not ‘sex,’ and despite all the evidence that the data would agree with whatever nonsense the students chose for themselves - 

Isn’t a bit wrong, to be validated like this? Seeing ‘M’ was elating. Seeing ‘M’ was sickening. This is not the place to maintain appearances, but if Kokichi’s veil shattered for an instant, he himself would be destroyed. 

Kokichi's teeth roll over his lip. That can't be right. This is a game built on deceit and perception. A whole, unabashed truth is what the ringleader desires. Opening up and telling the truth, with no lies of omission, would worsen the situation.

It's the right thing to do. 

Black-and-white morality is how the world within operates. The only way to best the game is to not play by the rules at all. 

“Ehhh… everyone’s prolly out and about by now.” Even Saihara. Especially Saihara. Not exactly the type of character Kokichi would describe as a ‘social butterfly,’ but he’s up there. “Time to streeeeeetch my leeeeegs…”

Said legs are still sore, for whatever reason. The ache doesn’t abide. 

-

Kaito Momota.

The second-to-last person he wants to talk to.

“Oi, Ouma-kun,” Momota greets. Fucking hell, what is today. He's not even bothering to be subtle; Momota has his shoulder propped on the pillar and his demeanor is casual. Patient.

He was waiting for Kokichi blatantly. 

“Still mad at me?” Kokichi asks, which is an equally blatant non-question. “Vengeance is a bad goal in life, y'know. But I guess you only know goals as mission objectives.”

“I’m not—” An already-frustrated Momota runs a hand through his hair. Patience is not his forte. “I’m not trying to pick a fight with you.” 

Kokichi’s forte is button pressing. “That’s too bad, ‘cuz I am.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a _professional_?” His lip curls around the word. ‘Professional,’ as if it’s a point of pride. Why does his mouth move? In disgust? In agitation? Don’t ask Kokichi, he’s not a coroner. Finding the meaning within faces is their problem. 

“Detectives like me are only needed when it’s too late,” Kokichi chirps. Momota’s eye twitches, sporadically. “Oh, I shouldn’t beat myself up like that. Of course that’s a lie. Stupid Momota-kun, don’t you know that our career path is one of stopping murders before they happen?” 

_Ah, but that’s a lie too._

Momota shuffles in place. Uncertainly, he says, “Ouma… alright, I get it. We’re ‘sworn enemies’ or whatever.”

“More than!”

Through gritted teeth, “Listen, I do get it. It makes sense that you’d be suspicious of me. But being an assassin - that’s just my job.”

“All the corpses are precursors to paychecks for you? Funny, that. It’s the same for me, ‘cept I have to face the families you ruined.” 

“What is your _problem_?” 

“Momota must be a failing killer if he’s coming up to me to a conversation. What’s wrong? Nobody wants to talk to you anymore?” Silence. “Ooh, did I hit a weak spot? Are you, lone-ly-” 

“Saihara was looking for you,” he interrupts. Kokichi’s boosts violently halt. “He actually interrupted that ‘lonely brooding period’ you think I have, first thing in the morning. He said you weren't answering your doorbell. I don’t know why, and I kinda thought it was unlike him to seek you out, so I told him I didn’t know where you were.”

“Then you checked the map,” Kokichi says. Toneless. They both know that he has his device on his person. “Didn’t you?”

If Momota had longer hair, perhaps he’d be playing with it. Instead, he has to scratch at the back of his neck. What an annoying sound; the _skritch_ of nails against a thinning hair shade. “I’ve… noticed that you tend to leave it in your room. It only moves whenever you’re deliberately faking, uh. Where you are. So, I wanted to intercept you before you could just drop it off somewhere and confuse him more.” 

_Noticing your target’s behavior. And you’re trying to convince me that you’re more than a hitman?_ “Why’d you think it was unusual of Saihara? Don’t you know we’re lovers?” 

Quite visibly, Momota jolts. Must’ve been a comment so out of left field it even startles him. “Saihara isn’t like that!”

“Is that jealousy I detect? Oh my, is Momota a player? Did you finally lose your virginity? Sad that it had to be here, of all places!” 

“He’s devoted to his organization. You think I haven’t heard of him before?”

“You recognized Saihara?”

“That’s… the wrong word to use.” Momota waves his hands. “It’s not like that, though! Saihara isn’t a crime leader. He just has ins. Contacts, y’know.” 

“…has he ever contracted your guys?”

Momota’s expression pinches. “I can’t get too much into specifics.”

“But you’re leaaaading me ooooon,” Kokichi whines. For emphasis, he bounces on his heels. “I’ll never, ever, be mean to you again, or suspect you in a class trial again, or tell Kiibo to clean your inventory for you ever again-”

“Is that why he demanded into my lab?! Ouma, you fuckin’-”

“Oops! Wasn’t me.” Momota does not look convinced. “It was Yo-naga.” 

“She isn’t a snake, Ouma.” 

“Of course she isn’t! That would be an insult to reptiles everywhere. They at least have hearts, cold-blooded they may be. Yonaga’s coldness is a consequence of her alloy.” 

“ _We are getting off track._ I didn’t tell you because I wanted a favor from you. If you were the last person on Earth, I wouldn’t accept your help.” Low blow. “I let you know because I was concerned.” 

“Someone’s been breaking out their encyclopedia,” he says, because fuck ever giving Momota ammo. Lest he thinks Kokichi approves of him or some other bullshit. 

“Fine.” Momota crosses his arms. “I’ll take that as a, _wow, thank you, Momota-kun._ I really appreciate how open you’ve been ever since revealing your talent to us. It’s not like anyone asked me to, or anything.” 

“Not my fault Iruma-chan had your video.”

“Isn’t it?” 

The two exchange one last look. Mutually, it’s full of feeling. 

Namely loathing, from Kokichi. Kokichi still can’t name whatever emotion is radiating from Momota. The closest he can get is ‘pity,’ but that would just be uncharacteristic from a murderer. 

No bad guy ever feels guilty for what they’ve done, for who they’ve hurt. Momota is just an excellent actor, a killer indistinguishable from the crowd. 

Somehow, Momota thinks he's in the right enough to sigh. “Fine. Be that way. I don't have time for this. Come to breakfast or don't, I'm not gonna drag you over there.”

What Kokichi would like to say is - something among the lines of, _you can't make me eat first thing in the morning! It's against my religion! You're so insensitive! Waaaah!_ But Momota cares not for getting in the last word; without even waving a goodbye, he makes his way towards the schoolgrounds.

...

... Once Momota is out of sight, Kokichi's cheerful demeanor instantly drops. Any gleefulness is wiped off of his face. 

“Saihara was looking for me... huh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ʜᴇʏ ɢᴜʏs. ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ sᴇǫᴜᴇʟ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴜɴғᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ʟɪғᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀɴs.
> 
> ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴀᴜ ɪs sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴʟʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ... ɪɴ ᴅᴇᴘᴛʜ? ɪᴛ ʜᴀs ʟᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴡ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅɢᴀᴍᴇ sʜɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.
> 
> ᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀs sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀs ᴀ ɢɪғᴛ. ᴀ sᴍᴜᴛᴛʏ, ɴᴏɴᴄᴏɴ, ᴏᴏᴄ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛsᴡᴀᴘ ɢɪғᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴇ. ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ & ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴀᴅ. ᴛᴡᴏ ʙɪʀᴅs, ᴏɴᴇ sᴛᴏɴᴇ. ɪ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ.
> 
> ɪ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ sɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ & sᴇx-ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ sᴇǫᴜᴇʟ. ɪ ᴄʜᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sғᴡ ʜᴀʟғ ɴᴏᴡ, sᴏ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴs ғᴏʀ ᴛʜɪs sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴡᴀs.
> 
> ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ. ɪ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ sɪʟʟʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ sᴏ sᴇʀɪᴏᴜsʟʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ɴᴏɴ-sᴇʀɪᴏᴜs sᴇʀɪᴇs. ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴅᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇʀᴇ sᴜʙsᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ, ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴇxɪᴛ, ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇxᴛ sʜɪғᴛ.
> 
> ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs. ɪ'ʟʟ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ's ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ.


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